


Exile

by ElectronicFerret



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: F/F, pearlnet if you squint - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 22:42:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5473211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectronicFerret/pseuds/ElectronicFerret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sit with me,” Garnet says, and of course you do so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exile

Every night, you leave.

You’re not allowed to watch Steven sleep any more -- even after the kidnapping, you made yourself hold to the promise. Oh, nobody _made_ you promise, but Steven had made his preferences clear, and you tried so, so hard to do what he wanted, to do whatever made him happy, so in the absence of an intermediary you made the promise to yourself. You wouldn’t watch him any more. And you yourself would not sleep, of course; you couldn’t bear the thought of being idle. So you exiled yourself nightly from the barn, finding someplace nearby you could sit and wait until morning light.

Mostly, you wound up tinkering. You couldn’t work on the drill without accidentally rousing someone, and in any case you really did need help with it if you wanted to make serious progress. A lot of the little fiddling bits were done already. There wasn’t much left to you, and after the first few days of visiting the barn, you ran out of things to do besides pace, think, and worry. You would walk through the night, circles through the barn until you could see the path you trod crushed into the grass, and then in your burning shame and awareness of your idleness, you would find somewhere else to walk for awhile, or kick up the grass and erase your steps.

There was no television here (thanks to his long break, Steven didn’t really miss it) and there were no books or other devices here, and even in the storage of your gem you hadn’t quite brought anything that could productively fill this eight-to-ten hour, regularly-occurring gap of silence and snoring. You tried to make further plans, but you’d already come up with half a dozen iterations of the Gem Drill and making more wouldn’t help. Amethyst had already expressed frustration the first time you’d suggested scrapping the drill to start a new one with improvements. More wouldn’t improve matters.

So tonight, Steven curls up on the mattress you brought along in the back of the pickup truck, and you engage in your nightly exile. You wander far enough away that you can’t hear Steven and Amethyst’s snores; far enough that they’re not even noticeable on the breeze. Far enough that the few lights have faded away and all that you can see are the open stars.

And then, you are irrevocably _alone_.

The nights are increasingly cold. You don’t shudder -- temperature means little to your body made of light -- but it _is_ cold and you _can_ feel it, in the wet frosted grass and the brisk wind. You allow yourself these sensations, the same way you allow yourself to stare up at the stars and feel their loss in the core of your being. The light you’re seeing is thousands, millions of years old, some of those twinkling sparks older than maybe even Gem culture. And one of those planets _is_ the epicenter of Gem culture. You’ll never see it again, unless they haul you back in your Gem and you consign yourself to a life of servitude -- if you survive the second war intact.

There is no question in your mind if there will be a second war; it is as inevitable as the night.

You are wrapped up in your thoughts, staring up at the stars, hearing only your inner dialogue, and you are so invested that you don’t realize someone is behind you until a gem-filled hand rests itself on your shoulder. “Pearl.”

You yelp; thank goodness you are far enough away from the barn that you won’t wake Steven, but it still sends your heart racing and you whirl around, trembling. “ _Garnet!_ You startled me -- “ She lowers her hand and you wrap both your arms around yourself in an effort to contain your movements. “W-what are you doing out here?”

She is, of course, as obtuse as ever; you can’t tell what her expression is behind the shades, even after over five thousand years of knowing her. “Looking for you.”

“Did you need something?” you ask, curiousity overcoming your startlement. Ruby sleeps, Sapphire dozes; Garnet crashes. You can’t imagine what would bring her out here. Did something happen? Did Peridot --

“Sit with me,” Garnet says, and of course you do so. You don’t think better of it until you’re both already seated, and you feel a familiar brief flicker of disgust with yourself: _still a pearl_. It isn’t true, of course, and it is a dark spark that disappears after its split-second appearance. You sit yourself in the grass. It’s cold, and slightly wet, so you shift to kneeling before too long, glancing over expectantly to Garnet. She is sitting in her usual cross-legged posture. You still can’t tell what she’s thinking, and you fidget with the tail of your sash while you wait.

It takes so long that her next words startle you again (although not nearly as bad as the first time). “What are you doing out here?”

“Oh,” you reply, with a wash of relief; nothing must be wrong at the barn. “Well, you know I can’t sleep, and I didn’t want to disturb Steven, so…”

“You could relax,” Garnet says, tilting her head towards you.

Oh. You can’t stand staring at those impassive shades anymore; you glance down into your lap. Conscious of your fidgeting, you make an attempt to still your hands, setting them flat on top of your folded legs. What do you say to that? “I…. well, I suppose I really can’t. I’d… rather be productive. We don’t have access to the temple, and…” You can’t go hide in your room or even retreat to missions while you’re here; the nearest warp pad is a long drive away.

You laugh a little at a sudden thought. “I think Steven would notice if we drove to a warp pad with him in the back, don’t you think?”

Garnet’s mouth twitches and you feel a little satisfactory warmth blossom in your chest. You move to stand --

Garnet reaches out a hand. You accept and then there is a blur of motion as she tugs you right back down, this time sitting in her lap.

An undignified squawk (Amethyst would laugh mockingly) escapes and you are stiff-limbed for a few seconds; what is she _doing_? But after that tug Garnet wraps her arms loosely around you, supportive without being confining, and you aren’t sure why, but you let yourself be pulled in, settling down with your back to her chest. Warmth seeps into your core and your limbs, and you unconsciously pull in your legs in an imitation of Garnet’s posture.

“Garnet…?” you ask, tremulously, uncertain. You still can’t see her, of course.

“Listen,” Garnet says. You can feel her chin ghosting across the top of your head, her limbs loosely wrapped around yours, and her voice is a rumble through your own chest. “What do you hear, Pearl?”

You strive to listen for a few moments, pulling your attention away from the awareness of how close you are at this moment. (You would have thought it impossible to have ever again a few months ago.) You try to really _listen_ , but whatever it is that she wants you to hear, you’re not certain you’re hearing it.

“...crickets,” you say, tentatively, after a moment. “And the wind.” And not much else. You can’t even hear the raucous snoring in the barn from where you sit.

“Yes,” Garnet agrees. “What else? Keep listening.”

You don’t have it in you to be frustrated with her oblique request, or even with yourself for possibly failing whatever test this is. You try again, stilling yourself as much as possible, letting the silence pass between the two of you. The wind rustles -- the barn sits amidst gentle rolling hills and the wind passes naturally through here, a fascinating process. The crickets chirp -- it’s cold, too cold for most insects, and the noises are sporadic and infrequent. And again, that’s all you hear. Even when you isolate those sounds in your mind and set them aside, all you hear is…

“Us,” you say, quietly. “Breathing.” You both are. After five millenia it’s become a habit.

“Nothing else?” Garnet asks, gentle, patient.

“No,” you admit. You can’t even hear cows. “If there’s anything else, I can’t hear it. Is there something else?”

Garnet is silent for a bit. You’re used to that pause after a question, because sometimes it means she’s looking. Or maybe it’s a conversation; you’re not quite sure.

“No,” Garnet says, eventually. “There’s nothing else, Pearl. It’s you and me. And maybe a few crickets.”

You stay quiet, listening to the breaths -- yours and Garnet’s -- and to the grass, and to the sporadic, quiet chirpings of insects. And you let the silence pass again, because surely there is more to it than that.

Naturally, your eyes drift back up to the stars; they are the only small motions of movement in an otherwise still night.

“There’s nothing else here, Pearl,” Garnet repeats, softly. “Nothing will happen until the morning. It’s safe.”

And with those words, it feels like you’re letting out a breath you have been holding for days. Garnet doesn’t lie about future vision. She can’t see every possibility -- she clearly never had a hint about your ( _horrible, awful_ ) deception -- but most of what she sees and looks for tells you what is likely to pass. And if she says nothing is going to happen for awhile --

“Pearl,” Garnet interrupts your reverie. “Relax.” You’ve tensed up again, going stiff-limbed and rigid in Garnet’s lap. It’s hard, but you breathe again, shifting slightly. Garnet embraces you a little more tightly.

“Stay with me,” Garnet says, resting her chin on your head. It is a motion that gently forces your gaze down from the stars. “And just… listen, for awhile.”

And you do. It’s a question, an offer, as much as it is a statement; Garnet would never keep you here against your will. But it’s a little easier this time around, to listen and relax, and you don’t fight it when Garnet’s form wraps around yours protectively. You close your eyes to make it easier to focus; your breathing and hers. The wind is cool but Garnet’s warmth burns against you, and you barely notice the chill; instead, the wind provides a soothing background to your paired breathing.

You sit together wordlessly through the long hours until morning. You still haven’t slept, but you feel refreshed all the same.


End file.
